


We Were Exploding Anyway

by abapical



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Heavy Drinking, Incest, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abapical/pseuds/abapical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles always helps his dad to bed when he's been drinking. Things start getting a little more complicated once puberty hits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Exploding Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead! Have some more incest! (The other thing will be updated very soon. Everyone following along, your patience and encouragement are not of this world.)
> 
> And whoever is responsible for [this art](http://media.tumblr.com/2db92cd2ba9037040377613e9af12687/tumblr_inline_milfkndHgM1qmxegz.jpg), you've thrown more fuel on this fire than you can possibly know (btw if you'd like to reveal yourself and be credited, feel free). :D

For a while after his mom dies, things are pretty bad.

It happens right before Stiles turns nine. They had this huge, elaborate, never-gonna-actually-happen fantasy birthday party planned out for him and then his dad had to plan for her funeral instead, so Stiles turned nine almost as an afterthought.

Stiles' birthdays are always a little grief-tinged now. His dad gets noticeably grim around that time of year and it makes Stiles want to curl up with him like he did when he was little. It’s just that his dad has to deal with so much already. Being in law enforcement is kind of a high-risk job and he drinks more than he should and Stiles doesn't want to make things any harder on him than they already are.

And if his dad sometimes falls asleep at the dining room table with a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam, Stiles doesn’t even think about how unhealthy that is. He’d probably be drinking too if he could; he gets it.

He knows he's not the easiest kid to have around. There was a lot his dad still had to learn when it was suddenly just the two of them, like how his mom always made sure he had money on his lunch card, and that he took his meds, neither of which occurred to his dad at first. Stiles feels so bad when he forgets his meds now, mom was always the one who knew how to deal with him when he was hyper and on edge. His dad would just get this helpless look while he watched Stiles bounce around the room. 

Sometimes he’ll have Scott sleep over, since things aren't going so well at Scott's house these days, and one evening Scott sighs into his Mountain Dew and says, "You're lucky your dad is so cool. I hate my dad."  
And Stiles can't remember _ever_ hearing Scott say he hates anyone or anything and he kind of wants to cry and hug his dad really hard at the same time.

Most nights, his dad doesn’t fall asleep downstairs anymore. But when he does, Stiles can't just leave him alone. He doesn't like to think of what might happen if he did, and he knows _he_ wouldn't want to be alone. So he’ll wake dad up as gently as he can, lead him upstairs, help him get his shoes and belt off and fall into bed.

Even years after his mom's death, he still needs to be sure. They're not really a family that sits down and talks about their feelings, so he finds his own ways to check in.

His dad never reprimands him for it, even when Stiles wakes him up by crawling into the other side of the bed. At most, he'll look at him a little blearily, go "trouble sleeping again?" and let Stiles snuggle in close once he nods.

Stiles actually sleeps better by himself most nights, only because he's so anxious about his dad that he'll wake up for every movement. But it's worth it just to keep an eye on him. He just needs to do it every now and then, to check and make sure dad is sleeping okay. 

But he’s a teenager now and all his body knows is that it's in bed with someone who's nice and warm and solid and clearly that means his dick needs to act up. Puberty is so fucked up.

Right now, dad has an arm slung over him and he smells a little like whiskey and Stiles wants to touch his dick so badly he feels a little drunk himself, He tries rolling onto his stomach, but that doesn't help the situation at all. Curling into a tight ball seems to be the only solution, and it still makes him want to sink through the bed and die.

He's not very good at ignoring it. If he were by himself, he'd be rolling onto his stomach and rutting on the mattress before he even woke up fully.

It wouldn’t take much, he just needs to flip over and grind his hips a little, his dad would probably sleep right through it. Just thinking about that makes his dick harden up a little more and Stiles grits his teeth, tries to will it back down. He _could_ get out of bed and go deal with it in the bathroom, but there's some awful part of his brain telling him that he shouldn't, that it wouldn't be as good.

He tells himself he just doesn't want to get up and wake dad. 

And he's so, so careful when he eases onto his stomach that his dad doesn't even move--the arm around Stiles' waist just ends up across his back instead and Stiles almost bites through his lip. He's not sure if it's because of how good it feels or how dirty it feels, but he's never been touched by anyone other than himself when he's hard so this is kind of a huge deal.

He'll just squirm against the mattress until he gets off, then drift back to sleep, and by the time they both wake up there won't be any evidence aside from Stiles' boxers. _His dad never has to know_.

Dad's arm is heavy on his back, steady pressure like it's encouraging Stiles' movements, _fuck_ , it's not supposed to feel like that. He can almost pretend his dad is stroking his back, telling him it's okay to take what he needs. Just a little lower and that hand would actually be touching his ass, which is a thought that has Stiles' breath hissing in. He's never played with himself there when he jerks off, but he's an adolescent boy with an internet connection and a whole lot of curiosity; he knows what's _supposed_ to feel good even though he also knows he's not supposed to be thinking of it in conjunction with his _dad_.

But he still finds himself hitching himself up a little, just to shift dad's hand a little lower, just a tiny bit, to see how it feels. He chickens out before he gets too far, but not before he's breathless and his cheeks are burning.

There's a whimper building in the back of his throat and he has to shove his face into a pillow in case it creeps out. This is new; he normally doesn't have to worry about keeping quiet, he's home alone a lot and his dad's a pretty heavy sleeper. This, though, this is different. Dad's arm is a firm, warm weight across his lower back, and when he moves his hips just the tiniest bit, the friction of his cock dragging against the mattress makes him want to _melt_ it feels so effortlessly amazing.

He tries to pretend it's literally _anyone else_ touching him, but he's pretty sure even the biggest guys in school don't have arms like his dad. And no one smells like dad, like dad's shampoo and cologne that Stiles is inhaling from where his face is shoved into the pillow. There's no other scent that makes him feel warm and safe like that, Stiles can't ignore it.

He wants to wedge a hand down the front of his boxers and actually _touch_ himself but that seems too risky, like everything he's done so far isn't risky enough. So he has his fingers clawed against the sheets and his hips hunching against the bed over and over, as carefully as he can even though it makes him feel like screaming because he isn't used to such a slow build. When Stiles gets himself off, it's hard and fast and all about instant gratification. 

And he definitely isn't expecting it when his dad shifts in his sleep and his arm cinches around him a little tighter.

He can't remember a time his dad ever judged him unfairly--Stiles gets into his fair share of trouble, but he has no illusions about not deserving the fallout if it happens--but this is pretty judge-worthy behavior and he'd really rather not have to explain it's not what it looks like.

Especially when it's pretty close to exactly what it looks like.

It's not that he _planned_ to get himself off in his dad's bed, but he didn't exactly do anything to avoid the situation when the opportunity arose. And lately, Stiles has been wondering if maybe he likes boys as much as girls, but he has no fucking clue how this fits into the equation. he just knows he feels loved and _safe_ when he's with his dad. and he likes to think his dad doesn't mind the way Stiles looks after him, even if it means nagging him into buying boring health food at the grocery store.

There are all sorts of ways in which this logic is broken, but he's never been as close with anyone as he is with his dad. He's never worried so much about a person's every move, he can't help it if it feels good when he's got his dad safe and cuddled close.

Next time, he'll just have to make sure he jerks off _before_ he checks on his dad, that's all there is to it.

Stiles almost jumps out his skin when his dad's hand actually _moves_. There's no fucking way he's still asleep, which means Stiles somehow woke him up because Stiles is a fucking idiot for thinking this was a good idea and oh _god_ , his dad is going to think he's such a freak. Especially when he gives Stiles a little shake and asks, "Everything okay, kiddo?" in a voice gone rough and gravelly from sleep and whiskey.

And Stiles' stupid body decides this is a swell time to finally have a goddamn orgasm.

Even if he _could_ somehow pass the whimpering and convulsing off as the effects of a nightmare, there's so much come soaking the inside of his shorts he has to reek of sex by now and there's no way in hell his dad is going to miss that.

The really weird thing is, shame and humiliation aren't Stiles' dominant emotions right now. He's tangled up in flat-out fear that his dad is going to hate him for this and everything is going to change. He'll start taking his drinks in his room, he'll lock his door, and Stiles won't get to sneak in to check on him anymore. Just the idea of his dad shutting him out makes Stiles curl into himself and try not to hyperventilate.

He tries to say that he's sorry, he didn't mean to, he won't ever do it again, but his throat keeps closing up and his eyes are burning like he's about to cry and the stickiness in his boxers is making him hate himself.

The last thing he expects is for his dad to hold him close and soothe him through it while he's trying not to disintegrate from sheer self-loathing. God, he's the shittiest son ever. 

His dad barely has a chance to say Stiles' name before Stiles immediately starts choking out apologies. "I'm sorry, daddy, I'm really sorry, I was sleeping and I couldn't stop, I'm _so sorry_."

He turns over so he can hide his face against his dad's chest, seeking out that feeling of warmth and safety even though he very carefully keeps his lower body averted. His dad is rubbing his back and telling him things that makes Stiles' face heat up even more: _it's okay, nothing to worry about, you’re okay_. And it all makes him go rigid with guilt, because he doesn't deserve it, but it's so much better than being yelled at or being told his dad is disappointed with him.

"You, ah, you probably need to...clean up," his dad ventures, and Stiles knows he's trying to go about this as tactfully as possible but it still makes him whine and pull a pillow over his head before bolting into the bathroom.

It would be different if it had just been a wet dream, something Stiles has no control over, just his body betraying him. But this was _calculated_. He actually moved so his dad's hand was nearly touching his ass. There's this treacherous little voice in the back of his head chanting _you liked it_ and he can't for the life of him make it stop.

His dad has such nice strong hands, Stiles has thought that for as long as he can remember, and he gives the most amazing hugs in the world. He shouldn't be sullying that by getting off on it.

He’s sniffling and breathing hard and seriously thinking of living out the rest of his days in the bathroom when his dad taps on the door.

"Stiles?" 

Stiles blows his nose and tries not to start crying. He still feels guilty for wanting a hug. Maybe he should've thought about that before he decided to hump the bed two inches away from his dad

"I'm leaving some shorts outside the door for you. If you..." His dad sounds so lost and it makes Stiles' insides twist with guilt. "If you need me, I'll be in the other room, okay?"

It's somehow more upsetting now that his dad's being so good about it. He's not scared of being kicked out anymore, but the guilt is starting to feel like a weight on his chest. Dad's being _so nice_ and so understanding, and if he only knew...

Without the panic, Stiles is free to feel completely disgusted and ashamed of himself.

There’s a pause outside the door. "Hey, your grandfather found my porn stash when I was around your age, did I ever tell--" 

" _Dad_ ," Stiles practically shrieks through the door, and hears his dad laughing. "Just...just gimme a minute, I'll be out soon," he sputters.

When he finishes changing, he wonders if he should just creep into his own room and hope everything will be forgotten in the morning, but it doesn't seem right. He should at least say goodnight to his dad again, and even now he really doesn't want to be alone. He _wants_ to crawl into his daddy's bed and fall asleep all snuggled up in his arms like nothing ever happened, but he's also kind of terrified of what might happen if he does.

As soon as he ventures back into his dad's room, his dad just wraps his arms around him and gives him a squeeze before Stiles can get a word out, like he knows exactly what Stiles needs without even needing to hear it. Stiles doesn't have the guts to ask if he can still stay the night in here, but when his dad nods towards the covers and asks, "Think you can get a good night's sleep now?" Stiles can't even begin to describe the sense of relief.

He’s figured out by now that his dad doesn’t really like sleeping alone either.

* * *

Unfortunately, the more out of control Stiles' hormones get, the more often this becomes a thing that just...happens. It’s mortifying every time and probably tries his dad’s patience like nothing else, but he hides it well.

Sometimes, Stiles will wake up with a moan on his lips and his dad’s gentle hand on his shoulder, then obligingly slip out of bed when his dad points him towards the bathroom. But afterward, when Stiles smells like shame and liberally applied soap, dad still lets him cuddle in close until they fall asleep again. 

Stiles knows he should stop, but sometimes his dad works so many long shifts he hardly sees him, or he'll hit the bottle too hard for Stiles to be comfortable leaving him alone all night. Above all, he just needs to be sure his dad is okay.

He still has guilty fantasies about his daddy's broad, rough hands on him, though. Palming his ass, skimming over his nipples, reaching between his legs when Stiles gets a little too squirmy in bed with him. He just figures this means he's _definitely_ into guys and eventually needs to find a boyfriend who's bigger than him.

Then there are the dreams, god, so many dreams of daddy's hands all over him that have him waking up hard and sweating with his dad's arm heavy across his middle. One night he's pinned so firmly he can't even wriggle out from under him the way he normally does. He blushes to the roots of his hair, gives his dad a few shoves, hisses, "Daddy, I need to..." and then bolts for the bathroom as fast as he possibly can. 

His dad is always _daddy_ once it's bedtime, even though Stiles hasn't called him that regularly that in years. He’s not anywhere near ready to read into the psychological implications of that.

Besides, there are plenty of other concerns weighing on him. He’s in high school now and expects having all these upperclassmen around (some of them even wear uniforms! god bless junior ROTC) is going to work wonders for his love life, but they're all just _boys_. They don't have rough, calloused hands, and they don't smell like aftershave or have scratchy stubble in the evenings. They're just not right, and that's a scary thing to swallow, the realization that it's not just a size kink or something, it really is all about his _dad_.

He tries porn of big hairy guys, porn with cops, porn with big age differences, and none of it does anything for him apart from what _all_ porn does for him, as a teenage boy.

Then he discovers daddy kink porn.

He didn't realize that was legitimately a thing, since "daddy" in porn just tends to mean "older guy/younger guy" and not "older guy being called daddy by younger guy." He just innocently--or as innocently as possible, considering--clicks a link called "daddy fucking me hard" and doesn’t expect anything major since, historically, all he's found in videos of that description have been age gaps. Which he can get behind, so whatever.

But then the young guy actually _says "daddy"_ and Stiles almost passes out.

His life will never be the same. Or his underwear, since he's pretty sure he comes hard enough to strain the seams.

The next time his dad comes home with that haunted look in his eyes and plants himself in front of the television with a bottle, Stiles feels the usual flickers of worry but he also knows this means one of those nights where he ends up helping his dad get into bed and then spending the night with those big strong arms around him.

And maybe if he's drunk enough and really starved for touch, he'll reach down and maybe rub Stiles through his underwear and won't even remember it when he wakes up the next day. Ever since Stiles discovered that porn, his fantasies stopped being strictly fantasies and he knows he should feel like an enormous pervert about that. When he's tried fingering himself, he always ends up thinking about how big his dad's fingers are and how he'd go nice and slow to make sure Stiles could handle them. He knows he’s depraved beyond reprieve at this point, but he can’t stop.

So the first night his dad starts drinking that happens after Stiles' discovery of daddy porn, he steps up his game a little. Normally he wears boxers or pajama pants to bed, but tonight he screws up his courage and slips into a pair of briefs. It’s warm enough for him to get away with it, and if his dad is going to get drunk and need a little manhandling before he makes it to bed, Stiles is going to get as much gratification as he can.

Stiles is well aware that he could be classified as a twink in certain circles. He can play it up.

Once his dad nods off in his recliner, Stiles swallows hard around the nervous lump in his throat and ventures over. "Hey, dad? Daddy? You need to go to bed." 

His dad has a glass of melted ice in one curled hand and his mouth is open enough that Stiles can see the pink of his tongue. And Stiles has wondered before what it would taste like to kiss him, if it would be like a warm shot of whiskey in and of itself, but he's never been so tempted to actually _try_. His nipples are sharp little points and he has to bite his lip when they scrape the rough cloth of his dad's uniform shirt as he helps him up. Maybe the briefs were a huge mistake; he feels so exposed it's kind of scary.

If he just had an unsexy dad, this would never have happened. The first time Stiles had this thought, he’d started giggling into his homework at the absurdity of his fucked up hormonal life, but it’s so fucking true. His dad came to school one day to give a talk, and a bunch of the girls in Stiles' history class kept whispering about Stiles having such a hot dad.

Stiles couldn't even pretend to be annoyed.

He’d wanted to blurt out, _Jesus Christ, I know, right? Try sleeping next to him, lemme tell you._

He kind of loves having that little secret all to himself. It's not _dirty_ , really, but it's just this side of wrong. And Stiles wouldn't say no to making it dirtier, hence operation twink.

He just wants his daddy to hold him and show him what it feels like to really be kissed...and maybe peel those briefs over his ass and put his mouth on him. Stiles isn't even fighting it anymore, and the more time he spends in his dad's bed, the less reason he's seeing for doing so. He's in high school, for Christ's sake, he's already way too old to be sleeping with daddy on the regular. If this was going to endanger their healthy father-son relationship, his dad would have put a stop to it already, but Stiles suspects his dad craves physical contact just as much as he does.

It still breaks his heart a little when he guides his dad to sit on the edge of the bed and he looks so fucking exhausted when he meets Stiles' eyes and sighs, "Sorry about this" like it's taking the last few scraps of his energy.

Stiles doesn't want his dad to drink, but at the same time, if he didn't, Stiles isn't sure how many excuses he'd have to do this. He’s already unbuttoning his dad's shirt and wearing practically nothing, and it’s like fire through his blood when he gives his dad a hug and tells him not to be sorry, he'll feel better in the morning, and if he could just stretch his arm out so Stiles can get this stupid shirt off...

He couldn't leave his daddy alone like this even if he _didn't_ have a zillion perverted thoughts scampering through his brain. His dad just looks so tired and lost and Stiles doesn't know what else he can do besides be there for him. Stiles has realized by now that his dad never pushes him away when he goes in for a hug, which surely he wouldn't do if he didn't _like_ it.

By now, he's gotten the shirt and belt out of the way and he's trying not to stare too blatantly at his dad’s chest even though he really, really wants to curl up and press his cheek against it and fall asleep listening to his heartbeat. He's so big and warm, Stiles wants to crawl into his lap even though he’s too old for that now. Or just old enough. The point is, this is an urge he's been fighting for a while now. Anyway, if he gets too riled up and needs to make a break for the bathroom, his dad probably won't even remember in the morning.

Stiles already feels bold and slutty for dressing like this, getting into his dad's bed in underwear that shows the precise curve of his ass. He actually gets his dad to kick off his pants, too, which normally doesn't happen when he passes out like this. It's too good an opportunity to _not_ take advantage of.

This is definitely more potential skin-on-skin contact than there's ever been before and Stiles' head is spinning like he's the one who's had a few drinks too many. His dad doesn't even normally have the undershirt off, so Stiles rarely gets an opportunity to admire his daddy's chest. And now he could press himself right up against it if he wanted to. Stiles needs a few seconds to clear his head before it explodes.

"I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" Stiles tells him. "I'll be right back." He hesitates for a split second, then pecks him on the cheek and flees.

By the time he gets back, he expects to find his dad lying down and possibly already asleep, but instead he's sitting up against the headboard like he doesn't even have enough energy to get under the covers. All Stiles can think is how badly he wants to snuggle into his lap and how unlikely it is his dad would even mind. Dad always wraps his arms around him as soon as Stiles gets close enough, he's sure this would be no exception. He's been thinking about that for weeks, but lap-sitting always seems unlikely since they're usually under the covers in bed when Stiles gets this close.

He scoots in close to give his dad a sip of water and by the time he sets the glass on the nightstand he's actually shaking a little. 

He could just chicken out, smile and turn down the covers and stretch out on his side of the bed--he's been thinking of it that way for a while now, he's not ever sure how long--but really, what's the harm in sinking against his daddy and letting himself be held for a minute? He's so warm and sleepy and bare-chested and Stiles _wants_ so, so much. His dad has never pushed him away before, there's no reason for him to start now.

Then his dad sighs, blinks blearily at him, and murmurs, "Stiles."

One hand makes an aborted movement on the blankets, like he was about to reach out. Like he knows Stiles is supposed to be there in his arms and it feels wrong that he's not. 

And Stiles can't leave him hanging, right?

He tries to form words, he really does, but somehow, "I'm right here, daddy," ends up half-muffled against his dad's shoulder and those hard, solid arms are squeezing him good and close just the way he likes. Any inhibitions Stiles had about snuggling into his dad's lap evaporate on the spot.

It's almost too much; there are so many sensations he's never felt before. His dad is stroking down his spine and Stiles has to swallow down a sob each time his touch brushes against the waistband of his underwear, and there's this gritty-ticklish feeling against his skin that keeps making him squirm in place. it takes him a second to realize it's the rub of his dad's chest hair, something he never even _thought_ about. 

Stiles is already a little bit hard just from taking his dad's clothes off. Pressed against him like this with so little between them has him feeling dizzy.

He could get himself off so easily, he would only have to rock a little bit, and dad wouldn't say anything, might not even realize what was going on until it was over. Stiles thought he was being so brave and daring with the briefs, he definitely didn't expect his dad would end up in just his boxers. This is really, really new for him.

His dad would just have to stroke a little further each time he smooths down Stiles' back and then he'd be palming his ass with one of those big, perfect hands the way Stiles has imagined so many times. He can't help the way his hips twitch just thinking about it, the way he ducks to hide his face.

"Stiles..." his dad says again, and Stiles can smell the alcohol on his breath, can only hope and pray it's enough to keep his mind good and cloudy until morning. "Are you okay?"

The roll of his voice is so low and soft it washes over Stiles like he's being petted, makes the front of his briefs pull a little tighter. He can't look down, his face is already flaming just imagining what he looks like, but he's sure he's about two seconds away from being so hard the tip of his cock presses its way past the waistband and _fuckfuckfuck_ if that happens his dad is going to _see_ , there's no way he won't. 

Stiles is acutely aware he brought this on himself when he put on his sluttiest underwear and got into his drunk daddy's lap. His heart is pounding in his throat, but he can't back out now, not with daddy's hands on his bare skin, he might never get a chance like this again. He’s just forgotten how to move or breathe, that's all. He knows he should try to escape to the bathroom or at least _warn_ his dad just how close he is, but he's breathing so hard it's a struggle just to force out, "Dad--daddy, I need--" 

But his dad just shushes him, pets him, holds him close. And that’s different too. His dad _always_ lets him go when Stiles says something like that. But right now Stiles couldn't get out of his dad's lap if he wanted to, he's being held so tight.

By now, he's not sure if he's trying to tell his dad he needs to run to the bathroom or if he needs to come...and the thing is, his dad doesn't seem particularly bothered. One of his hands shifts up to cup the back of Stiles' head and he doesn't understand why that feels so _good_ , like he's being protected. He presses his forehead to his dad's shoulder and mewls a little, hears himself draw a shaky, hiccuping breath when his dad murmurs a sleepy, "'s okay" against his temple.

Stiles isn't even really moving, he's not rocking or grinding against his dad's stomach or anything untoward at all, hes just got daddy's hands all over him and daddy's voice rough in his ear and it's enough to catapult him to the edge. 

Nothing feels wrong or dirty right now; this is his _daddy_ and his daddy is taking care of him. Even when he tries, he can't make himself imagine doing something like this with anyone else. He's shaking all over and soaking his briefs with precome, but his daddy just gentles him through it. Kisses his head, tells him it's okay. Stiles is a ball of so many conflicting emotions he can't even begin to sort through, so he just clutches his daddy a little closer.

On one hand, Stiles is kind of giddy, because _this was what he wanted and he got it,_ but on the other he's worried his dad won't remember anything. Or worse, that he'll remember it all and regret the whole thing.

But he's too overtaxed to process that right now, so he nuzzles the side of his dad's neck a little and whispers, "Love you, daddy" in this raw little voice that sounds like it belongs to someone else.

He's wound so tightly and he's shaking so bad, he can't help hitching forward a little, finding some friction against his dad's stomach, whimpering when he does it. "Daddy, I can't--I need to--" His hips twitch again, without his control. He needs to come so badly he can't think.

Stiles' briefs are so wet he might as well be naked at this point, and he just needs a little more friction, just a little touch, and he's clutching at his dad so hard without really meaning to, because what if touching himself is pushing things too far? What if this has to seem like an accident for it to be okay? A really, really flimsy excuse of an accident at this point, but Stiles is still concerned. He's never ever actually put a hand on himself in the same room as his dad.

But his daddy's hand keeps stroking down his back and Stiles wants to wail with how badly he needs some _contact_ , anything.

The first time his dad's touch brushes against his ass, he jolts and assumes it’s an accident. But it keeps on happening, over and over, long smooth strokes all the way down his back and then lingering over the curve of his ass, and it's eating away at the last remains of Stiles' fortitude. He already has one hand clawing at his own thigh now, inching closer and closer to where he needs to be touched, but he needs to make sure his dad _knows_ this, he needs to make sure this is okay. 

"Daddy, c-can I?" He'd be okay just rubbing against his daddy's stomach and getting off that way, all he needs is one good _press_ and he's going to go off like a shot. His dad is _touching his ass_ , he's impressed with himself for lasting this long. Stiles still has one foot in the shellshocked stage here or he would've come already.

"Whatever you need," his dad says softly, and that's enough for Stiles to press the heel of his hand against the damp front of his underwear.

He's so hard the pressure almost hurts for a split second, but then he's sobbing into daddy's shoulder and coming into his hand so fast he almost faints. It hasn't once occurred to him to press down, to see if his daddy is hard too. If there was a line he wasn't supposed to cross, it's miles behind him now.

And his daddy lets him fall apart right there in his lap, rubs between his shoulders and kisses his forehead and holds him until he drifts back down to earth. By the time he asks, "Ready for bed, kid?" in that whiskey-rasped voice, Stiles is already nodding off against him.

He's too blissed out and sleepy to be embarrassed when his daddy helps him lie down, even though he's vaguely aware that his briefs are a mess. Stiles was supposed to be the one taking care of his dad tonight, not the other way around. But he can barely even lift his arms.

It occurs to him that, if his daddy remembers this, he might hate himself for it in the morning. Stiles knows he's being selfish, but he wants his daddy so much and he doesn't know how to make it okay. They’re at an impasse, since Stiles will never be bold enough to try anything when his dad is sober and his dad will never be able to live with it the next day without being able to blame it on the booze.

His daddy always takes such good care of him. Stiles doesn't want to lose that even though he knows how fucked up that is--this all started because he was worried about his dad's drinking.

* * *

He feels the worst combination of excitement and worry, now, when he sees his dad pick up a bottle.

This is an addiction for him, too. He's getting more ambitious, he knows that. Greedier. Before, he was satisfied with hugs and forehead-kisses. But now he wants his daddy's mouth on his skin, his fingers inside him, anything he can get.

Stiles wonders sometimes if the drinking is more of an excuse than a catalyst, if maybe he could cut his dad off after just one drink and they could pretend that was enough to have them falling into his bed together. He's not sure if he wants to be right about this, though, since that would come way too close to acknowledging they're both aware this is happening… but he doesn't like the idea of his dad becoming an alcoholic because of him.

He also doesn't like thinking about the possibility that dad has to be drunk to do this, because then Stiles is...well, he's not sure what kind of label he's supposed to put on it, but he's nothing good.

Sometimes he'll crawl into daddy's lap, just like the first time, and come that way, being held and gentled like a little kid having a nightmare. Other times, he'll slip under the covers and rut against his daddy's leg, face buried in his neck to muffle his moans. 

One time, his daddy kissed his nipples until Stiles came without any kind of pressure on his cock. That one was a very big deal. 

Stiles doesn't know how much longer he can go without begging for more. And other than the first time, when he asked if he could touch himself, Stiles has never asked for a single thing from his daddy. He wants _so much_ , but he's scared of spooking him. It scares him to think that that might drive him to drink even more.

He brainstorms with Scott, tells him he wants to make sure his dad cuts back on his drinking, and Scott just suggests he dump all the booze. Part of Stiles wants to -- really, really, wants to -- just to see if his daddy would go to bed sober and still want him. But the rest of him is so worried he _wouldn't_.

He doesn't know if he can go without anymore.

He's not crazy; he knows it's fucked up, but he also knows his dad loves him and would never do anything Stiles didn't want. And he _wants_ this, he wants more than he thought he would, and it's starting to tear him apart. He wants his dad to be healthy, not to drink himself into an early grave for the sake of his sex life, and Stiles is sure what they're doing isn't healthy at all. 

They've never even spoken about it, not even in the heat of the moment. 

Stiles isn't always too worked up to speak properly, but it's easier to pretend he is. It's easier for both of them when he speaks in broken sentences and desperate pleading. Sometimes he imagines pushing the envelope, like trying to tug his daddy's boxers off the next time he undresses him or opening himself up with a finger or two and slipping into his daddy's bed still lube-slick between his legs. Or just flat-out asking if he always has to drink before he comes to bed. That's the scariest fantasy of all, because he can so easily imagine it turning ugly.

Sometimes Stiles gets a little panicked after he comes, like the first time, and his dad always seems to think he's just overwhelmed (because he so often is), but really it's just that once Stiles comes down, he can't stop thinking about what an awful person he is for doing all this.

Then one evening, during a perfectly normal, pleasant dinner, his dad asks him if he’s doing okay. Stiles' words tumble out in a panicked rush.

"I love you and I wish you didn't have to drink so much."

His dad looks like Stiles just belted him across the face. "I won't," he says, not missing a beat. "I won't do it again, I promise," and Stiles knows right away he's not talking about _just_ the drinking.

Which just makes him feel like he's about to spiral into a panic attack because how the fuck does he explain to his dad he has no problem with anything _but_ the drinking? He digs his nails into his palms. "I just don't want you to feel like you _have_ to drink," and he wants to explain what that means, but he can’t.

His dad just nods, looking pale. They finish eating in complete silence.

Stiles' head is swimming, he thinks he might actually be sick. _He_ did this, he's the one who exploited his dad's habit and now he's finally having to deal with the consequences. Stiles was so caught up in feeling guilty for his part, it had somehow never occurred to him that his dad might be blaming himself.

The next day, he takes Scott's advice and hides all the booze in the house. 

Hides, not throws away, because he's not sure if he's ready to live with the consequences of those actions. He thought about pouring everything down the sink, but some of this scotch is older than he is and he's pretty sure that means you don't dump it down the sink. Besides, he’s already bracing himself to see if his daddy still wants him; he doesn’t need to brace himself for the consequences of dumping all the Johnnie Walker Blue on top of that.

He's on tenterhooks from the second his dad gets home, just waiting for it, and it finally happens when he's video chatting with Scott and procrastinating on his English paper. 

" _Stiles_ ," his dad roars downstairs.

Stiles almost falls out of his chair, then bolts to the kitchen in less than five seconds. "You promised you wouldn't."

His dad still assumes he means "wouldn't drink" _and_ "wouldn't molest your only child" since he isn't aware Stiles is only opposed to the former, but Stiles still doesn’t know how to lay out the specifics for him. He’d happily suggest he could learn how to go down on him as a reward for not drinking, but he suspects that might not be the wisest route.

“I’m sorry,” his dad says. He sounds tired. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

Stiles does the only thing he can think of: dashes off to Scott's and promises to be back by curfew. That way, it’ll be almost bedtime when he finally makes it home. And then… then he’ll just have to see what happens.

Right now, he really needs something to take his mind off this madness and Scott's good at that.

Before he leaves, he pokes his head into the living room, where his dad is sitting staring at the television like a zombie. "Please don't...go out and buy any, okay? Please don't."

Lord knows his dad deserves a drink or two by now. He must think he’s a monster who Stockholm Syndromed his kid into bed with him and now Stiles is trying to save him when he should be running for the hills.

He's still in the same chair when Stiles returns a couple hours later, like he hasn't even moved, and it makes Stiles suck in a huge breath like he's been punched. But, he notices, there's no sign he's been drinking.

“Are you...okay?” he asks cautiously, and gets half a nod in return.

So Stiles shuffles his feet and inches out of the room.

His nerves are shot, but he tries to act like nothing's amiss--he brushes his teeth, makes sure he has semi-matching socks for the next day, then pads back into the living room and bites the bullet. "Aren't you...aren't you gonna go to bed?"

He's so concerned because his dad looks like he's about to break into pieces. It hits him like a blow when he realizes his dad might thinks Stiles is trying to ask if he'll leave him in peace tonight instead of making him babysit his drunken ass.

Stiles did his research, he read all about alcohol withdrawal and stuff, but he didn't think his dad would have to go through anything like that since it's not like he was drunk all the time or anything. None of the literature covered this particular issue, though.

It tears his heart to shreds when his dad finally manages to look at him, manages to smile a little, and says, "Yeah, I'm heading up in a while. Night, kiddo." Then he turns back to the TV.

The forced cheerfulness is even worse; it reminds Stiles of how his dad acted in the months after his mom died. Stiles is a wreck, but he just nods, whispers, "Goodnight, dad," and actually gets most of the way up the stairs before the tears start.

He's _broken_ his dad. 

At least he has his answer now. His dad was drunk, and he never would have let Stiles into his bed if he hadn't been. It was all booze talking, and Stiles took it away. Not only has he made his dad miserable, but he doesn't _want_ Stiles anymore.

He has the scotch stashed under his bed, but he resists the impulse to bring it downstairs. He doesn't want to just leave him like that, but if he goes back downstairs and begs his daddy to come to bed he's sure his dad is going to just shake him off in disgust.

This is one problem he can't even text Scott about. _I made my dad go cold turkey and now he won't let me sleep with him anymore._ Yeah, nope.

Stiles has to crawl into his cold little bed all alone for the first time in weeks.

He doesn't know how he makes it through the night, all alone and eaten up with guilt, but he tells himself it's worth it since at least his dad isn't drinking. 

But the thing is, his dad doesn't seem any happier as the week goes by. There's still that same artificial levity about him and Stiles is sure it's because he remembers bits and pieces of what they did together and he's repulsed because he can't even drink the memories away.

For the first time since he got himself off on his dad's mattress, Stiles feels dirty and ashamed. He has a veritable liquor store under his bed, maybe he should take a leaf out of his dad's book. He just misses his daddy so much, misses falling asleep to warm kisses on his nape. 

His dad still tells him he loves him every night, but there aren't any hugs anymore and Stiles' bed seems so small and sad. His dad used to give him hugs and temple-kisses just about every day.

He breaks after almost an entire week of this, when it's Friday and his dad has the next day off and _normally_ that would mean they'd go out and see a movie or a game or some standard father-son thing. But Stiles just knows it's going to be different, if it even happens at all, and just thinking about it keeps him up at night.

And he feels like such a baby, he knows he should be happy his dad is taking care of his health, but he's blown through almost an entire box of kleenex and he still can't sleep. So he ends up hovering at the threshold of his dad's bedroom door for what feels like a year. He just wants to crawl under the covers and be cuddled, that's all. If he could never have anything else, he'd be happy with that. He's ready to curl up right there at the door and see if just being in the same room helps him drift off, and that's when his dad wakes up.

Stealth isn't Stiles' strongest suit and he's still sniffling.

His dad flicks on the bedside lamp and squints at him since Stiles still hasn't moved from the doorway. "You all right there, kiddo?"

Stiles wants to fall over and die rather than answer than honestly. He swallows and tries to blink back the burn of tears since the last fucking thing he needs is to freak his dad out by turning into a leaky faucet on him. "I just...I don't know, I couldn't sleep."

Christ, he’s so fucking selfish. His dad obviously wants his space, but it's 2am and Stiles is so tired and he just can’t keep his feelings to himself.

Beforehand, his dad would've just let Stiles snuggle into bed with him and that would have been that. But this time, he can barely look him in the eye. "Just...try and read a book for a little while," he says haltingly, and Stiles' vision goes blurry, and then he can't hold back anymore. He really is going to cry in front of his dad like a dumb little kid.

Somehow, he manages to gasp out, between sobs, "Daddy, I can't _sleep_."

Stiles can’t remember the last time he called his dad that while he was sober. His poor dad looks like he just got suckerpunched. But he's across the room in record time anyway, and when he puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder--so carefully, like he isn't sure Stiles wants to be touched, not after everything that's already happened--Stiles practically falls against him.

He’s been so fucking starved for contact. Going from cuddles and orgasms almost every night to a cold empty bed is rough on a teenage boy. And now he’s crying so hard he's practically hiccuping, but still trying to apologize, telling his daddy he's so sorry, he just didn't want him to have to drink so much in order to want him.

He doesn't even care about telling the truth anymore, getting it out in the open can't feel any worse than keeping it locked inside. And he needs to say he's sorry, really _say_ it; he’s such a creep for what he did. He took advantage of his own _dad_. What kind of sicko does something like that?

"A-and I miss you," Stiles hiccups out, each word sounding like it's being choked out of him. "I didn't mean to, I really didn't," but _now_ his dad looks more confused than anything else.

He doesn't want to ask if he can sleep in here tonight since he's sure his dad will only say yes because he can tell Stiles is distraught right now, not because he's comfortable with the idea. Stiles can barely speak above a hoarse whisper, he's just clinging to his dad's t-shirt and sniffling into his shoulder. "I wanted it so much, I just didn't want you to have to be drunk to be with me," he says in a rush.

It's out in the open now, everything, but at least daddy knows he's sorry. That counts for something, he thinks.

"Stiles, no.” His dad sounds like he’s still reeling. “You've got nothing to be sorry about. I never meant to make you feel like you had to do anything." 

Great, now his dad thinks Stiles somehow brainwashed himself into thinking this is all his fault. Stiles starts crying even harder at that. "You don't get it. I let you keep drinking so I could...I _wanted_ it and I'm sorry, okay? I'm really, really sorry."

" _Stiles_ ," his dad breathes against the top of his head, "You don't have to talk like that."

Stiles finally pulls back enough to look at him.

"It can go back to how it was before, right, daddy? If I promise not to do anything bad?" He sniffles, trying and failing miserably at keeping his voice steady. "It's so hard to sleep without you now." 

He doesn't know what he'll do if daddy says no. All he wants now is to be allowed back in his dad’s bed. He doesn’t know where the line is supposed to be anymore; he's completely lost sight of where a normal father-son relationship stops. Probably way before late-night cuddles under daddy's covers. Stiles doesn’t even care anymore.

It’s like a dream when his daddy leads him to bed. Maybe, just maybe, he’s been missing Stiles too. 

"I won't...do anything," Stiles promises while his dad is tucking him under the covers. "I promise. I just can't sleep by myself right now." He must seem incredibly pathetic since his dad pulls him close and holds him until he stops sniffling.

And it really does seem like things are okay again.

* * *

Now he's back to square one, getting cuddles and occasionally getting all riled up in his sleep but definitely _not_ pressing his luck by doing anything as stupid as trying to get off in the same bed while he's awake. He still has a good stockpile of things his daddy _did_ do to him before everything fell apart and he mentally rifles through it pretty often.

He promised his daddy he'd be good and he meant it. He's still sad that his daddy doesn't want him when he's sober, but he figures he's lucky not to be branded a creepy little freak and banished to his own bed forever.

It's really just a matter of time before he wakes up with his hard-on pressed against his daddy's hip, though. He's still a teenage boy. 

Stiles blushes to the roots of his hair the first time he wakes up his dad by mistake. He quickly mumbles that he’s okay, he just needs to use the bathroom for a minute, and he thinks his daddy looks like he's about to say something, but all he does is nod.

Stiles is all anxiety; he didn't mean for it to happen and he's afraid he's ruined it all again. Even barricaded inside the bathroom with a hand around his cock, he can't get himself off.

Normally all he has to do is rub his palm against himself for a few seconds and it's enough, after waking up next to his daddy. But there's a weight in his stomach and all he can think about is going back to his dad and apologizing for letting it happen again. He finally gives up, goes back into the bedroom, and sighs that he thinks he should spend the rest of the night in his own room. 

That's when his dad looks at him like he _knows_ something is off. “Do whatever you need to do and I'll be right here if you need me, okay?" 

Stiles nods jerkily and disappears, and actually manages to fall asleep by himself.

This is kind of an awkward system, in Stiles' opinion, but he has to admit it works. He gets what he needs from his dad and tries really hard not to think about that time when he had his _daddy_ too. That's another awkward thing, but he has to keep them separate entities in his head, otherwise it’ll feel like his _dad_ rejected him. Stiles just can't deal with that. He only had daddy for a little while, and that wasn't really real, but he’s still got his dad.

He only feels sad now when he dreams about it, when he wakes up sticky and has to sneak out of bed to clean up, and remember how his daddy doesn't really want him, not like that. 

And he really is happy that his dad isn't drinking so heavily anymore, at least that's one good thing that came out of this. Stiles eventually relinquishes his stash, but he still monitors his dad's intake as much as he can, albeit for different reasons than before. He hasn't had to drag his dad to bed since he stole the liquor, and that's a good thing. He tells himself that on a nightly basis. 

Besides, there are other ways he finds to blow off steam. Stiles is pretty creative. Which is what leads him to fingering himself in his dad's bed one afternoon when he's supposed to be stripping the bed for laundry. 

Stiles doesn't let himself indulge to this extent very often, but he can't help himself; the opportunity is too perfect. The sheets smell a little like his dad's aftershave and cologne and it's almost like he can pretend he's really there, taking care of him and telling him it's okay to come, whatever he needs, it's okay. And Stiles thinks he's finally figured out how to jerk off _and_ hit his prostate at the same time, which is fucking revolutionary.

Stiles has been working on this for a while. In his dreams and fantasies he’s constantly begging just for his daddy’s fingers inside him. For a while, he tried to make himself move on, but there's no porn in the world and no fantasies that his fevered imagination can cook up that compare to memories of his daddy. They usually start with him doing it to himself first, just to prove he can, so daddy stops worrying about hurting him. He has to finger himself and whine about how much better it'll be once it's daddy's fingers.

All this time he's wanted to feel his daddy in him but he was too scared to say. It took him ages to realize his dad was getting hard too, and he still doesn’t know how much his daddy was aware of himself, half-drunk and half-asleep. Stiles never mentioned being fucked, but he thinks about it all the time, how his daddy would hold him and praise him and slip inside so slowly once he’d eased Stiles open on his fingers.

Dad gave him the sex talk when he was thirteen, and he remembers being told that the most important thing to remember was that no matter who he was with, girl or boy, no matter how well he knows them, there _always_ needs to be a condom involved in the proceedings. He remembers that so clearly because he can't help wondering if daddy would make an exception when it's just them. He can't trust anyone if he can't trust his daddy, and he really, really wants daddy to come inside him. He wants that so much.

He likes the way he feels when he's finished getting off on his fingers and he's all opened up, so sometimes he'll imagine his daddy's come slicking him up and not just lube. And he knows he's clean, he's still a virgin, and he really doesn't know if his dad has been with anyone since his mom died. He doesn't think so; he remembers his dad dating just once, when he was around twelve, and that didn't last long. It worries him, the thought that nobody's touched his daddy all these years, but he thinks he understands, sort of. If _he_ were his dad, he'd have an impossible time believing anyone could ever live up to his mom, too, so in a way Stiles is the next best thing.

Stiles uses a lot of lube--he always has, he likes it wet, but now there's that added element. He found himself wondering one day how it would feel like to have his daddy's come dripping out of him. He used nearly half the bottle that day, got lube everywhere, but he came so hard he didn't care.

He's so curious about everything, even now. And he still has no qualms about watching porn, especially after he discovered just how relevant some of it was to his interests. He found one barebacking vid where the guy on top came inside the other guy so hard Stiles could actually see his dick _flex_ while he did it, then afterward he’d kissed him and gone, "you think you can keep all that come inside you?" Stiles had a minor heart attack. He still rewatches that one a _lot_.

And that guy's voice isn't anywhere _near_ as hot as his daddy's. If his dad said something like that, Stiles would probably never recover. He knows he's tight, though, he could keep it all inside if he tried. Then maybe daddy would fuck him again, reward him for being so good, slide back into his slick hole and tell him he's daddy's good boy. 

At least in his mind, everything always turns out okay. In reality, Stiles has realized he has to learn how to handle this himself, since no one else will.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty okay job of it until his dad comes home early.

He's so wrapped up in what he’s doing he misses the front door opening. He gets overwhelmed so easily when he really lets himself go, and he never did get to find out what his daddy's fingers felt like inside him but with two of his own stretching him open and his nose buried in his dad's pillow he thinks he can _almost_ imagine.

He's being as loud as he wants, too. Stiles likes making noise, he never holds back when he's home alone. He thinks he's got the house to himself and he's well on his way to mastering the art of prostate stimulation, he can do whatever he pleases.

He's deliberately holding back a little since he remembers how good it felt when he used to squirm against his daddy and the friction was _just_ short of enough to get him off, so he's got a pretty steady stream of _please, daddy_ and the like going on.

Then his dad stumbles over the laundry basket Stiles abandoned at the top of the stairs and that's what finally makes Stiles freeze and prick up his ears. 

He doesn't even have any bedclothes to cover up with, he's just lying on the sheet with the blankets strewn over the floor. The least he can do is pull his fingers out of his ass and the feel of that just makes him moan in spite of himself. 

Stiles is scrabbling to yank a corner of the sheet over himself and yelping, "Dad, you really don't want--" when his dad pushes the door open the rest of the way.

 _Fuck_. What was he thinking doing this in his dad's bed? He's pretty sure that falls under the bad stuff he promised not to do. His dad was supposed to work until at least seven, he was never supposed to know. And Stiles has been so good lately, but he just couldn't help it. 

His dad is just blinking at him as if he's never seen him before and Stiles is madly trying to think of some way to talk himself out of this even though he's flushed all down his chest and still so hard he doubts even the sheet and his drawn-up knees can hide it completely

All he comes up with is, "You're home really early!"

Which is no help at all, because now it sounds like he makes a habit of tracking his dad's work schedule so he can finger himself in his bed.

His poor dad has probably just started to think maybe things are kind of normal between them again, bed-sharing not withstanding. Now he's got his son naked in his bed looking like a freshly ravished rentboy and he can't do anything but stare. Stiles is ready to die.

He can see his dad struggling to keep his disciplinarian hat on. He even pulls out the big guns and calls Stiles by his _actual_ name, which he never does unless Stiles has some serious explaining to do.

Normally, that puts the fear of god into Stiles like nothing else. This time, because he’s the epitome of a lost cause, it just makes his temperature rise a few degrees. If his dad only knew just how many fantasies started with that stern tone of voice…

Stiles is twisting the edge of the sheet in both hands, too tongue-tied to even say he's sorry. There’s no way around it, his dad must have heard him begging and moaning like a slut. He’s too polite to mention it, of course, but Stiles knows he was pretty loud.

His hard-on isn't even going down. His body is such a traitor. And he feels _empty_ ; he's not used to pulling out his finger (or fingers -- he's very pleased about moving up to two) until after he's come. So now he’s clenching on nothing when he was just about to come, all damp from sweat and precome--and there's no way his dad can miss that either. He'd been going at this for a while; the room probably smells like a brothel. 

Stiles takes a slow, calming breath, "Any chance we could maybe...not have this conversation now?" _Or ever_. he wants to add, but he figures his dad gets the picture.

"I, uh, I really need to finish doing laundry," he adds lamely. 

His dad is gripping the doorframe so hard Stiles is afraid it might splinter. "Why _here_?" 

His voice this time is low and even, and it makes Stiles' face crumple. " _Sorry_. I know I said I wouldn't, but I swear I didn't plan on it."

It's so hard to be good sometimes and he figured there was no harm in letting himself slip this one time. He meant to just lie on the sheets and snuggle down into his daddy's scent for a little while. And he can't even tell the truth since he knows that would break his dad's heart.

"It won't happen again, I promise," he says earnestly, but all he can think is that his dad is going to shake his head and say this is the last straw, this is proof positive Stiles needs to be spending his nights in his own room.

His dad just sighs. “I’m ordering pizza.” Which is really well-played on his part, since it’s not like Stiles can call him out on _his_ life choices now. And he disappears back downstairs.

* * *

Stiles springs into action.

He takes a quick shower and only touches himself for a minute or two before guilt gets the best of him. He scuttles down to the laundry room too fast for his dad to catch him, then wonders if he should just creep into the living room like nothing happened. He’ll have to reconcile with his daddy somehow or other. He's worried, though, he's so worried he won't get to sleep in his dad's room tonight because of this. He can't lose that again.

He has to just gather his courage and be honest. 

His dad has a newspaper open when Stiles edges into the room, but Stiles knows he's not reading it since his reading glasses are on the coffee table and his dad _never_ reads the Style section. "I just, uh..." and he knows what he _wants_ to say, but he can't just tell his dad that sometimes he really misses it when he was his daddy too.

"It's really hard to be good, but I'm trying. Do you believe me?" That sounds a little better.

His dad puts the newspaper down and levels him with this stare, like a human lie detector. "Why is it so hard, Stiles? I need to know what's going on with you, because I don't think you're very happy right now. You need to tell me how I can help."

Stiles flushes to the tips of his ears, but he makes himself answer. "I just think about...about the way it was before. And it makes me...I'm a teenager, you know? It's hard to make it go away without..." 

He can't believe he even has to _say_ any of this; he thought he explained himself weeks ago. Why does his dad think he spends half an hour in the bathroom every time he has to sneak out of bed? Why would Stiles promise to be good if he didn't mean...this?

"I'm really, really glad you're not drinking like you were then." Stiles has to add that, he wants his dad to know that it's better this way, even if he's not getting what he wants. "I just miss the...the other stuff."

His dad is staring so fixedly at the paper now that Stiles is half expecting it to catch fire. "Stiles, we talked about this. Yes, there were...things that happened, but none of them were your fault." His dad's ears are bright red now and Stiles is a little relieved that he's not the only one turning into a human tomato here. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided you couldn't trust me again after that."

Hearing his dad say aloud that he thinks this was his _fault_ just breaks Stiles' heart into a million little pieces. 

"Dad, I let you keep getting drunk because I wanted that stuff, so... you're not the one who needs to worry about being trusted here." Stiles scrubs his hand over his face and sighs. "I just don't want you to beat yourself up for something you didn't even do. I just can't stop thinking about it sometimes and it gets to be too much and everything gets all… hazy. That's why it's so hard to be good, okay? That's-- it's--" he ends on a bitten off groan. He was sure he'd already gone through this. He wants to scream _it wasn't your fault_ from the rooftops, but then he starts piecing it all together--much slower than usual, for him.

"Why _didn't_ you tell me to stop?"

His dad sighs and tosses the paper onto the coffee table, drops his face into his hands, and Stiles knows he's onto something. It's exactly how _he_ tends to react when he's asked pointed questions he'd really rather not answer, after all.

"You said it yourself, you're a teenager, you couldn't help it," his dad answers, which sounds logical enough, but Stiles knows that can't be it.

"Some of the things you let me do, though..." and he'd rather not list them out but he's starting to realize his dad has a better memory of these times than he's let on. "That was beyond just letting me get it out of my system, you _know_ it was."

He just wants his daddy to admit he liked making him come, that's all he needs to hear. Stiles is pretty sure throwing the _you’re my dad_ card in his face won't do him any favors. That'll just guarantee his dad banishes him to his own room forever and feels guilty forever about taking advantage of his son and they never speak of this again.

His dad still isn’t answering. Stiles fidgets a little and finally says, "I love you, daddy. You didn't hurt me."

And his dad seems to lose all of his objections, the fight just falls right out of his posture.

Stiles steps a little closer until he could perch on the arm of his dad's chair if he wanted to. "Don't you miss it too? Sometimes?"

There's a whole section of his brain entirely devoted to how much he misses having his daddy so he really, really hopes the answer is yes.

He starts to sit down, more on the arm than on his dad's lap, but he still pauses to ask, "Is this okay?"

He doesn’t expect his dad to nod, much less bring his hand up to Stiles' hip and guide him fully onto his lap. And Stiles goes with a gasp on his lips and his heart in his throat.

It reminds him of that time when his dad started to reach for him like he wasn't sure why Stiles wasn't already cuddled against him to begin with. He doesn't miss the drunken haze from before, not at all, but Stiles still remembers every detail of that, how good it felt to let himself sink into his daddy's lap and be held. 

His dad is actually shaking a little bit and that makes Stiles turn so he can wrap his own arms around him and squeeze good and hard. “Dad...daddy, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I know, buddy,” his dad murmurs, so softly. “I know.”

Now is probably not the time to mention this, but he's still feeling slick and stretched from earlier and it's making him a little breathless when he realizes he might actually get to have his daddy doing that to him sometime soon. "I can tell you what I was thinking about before, if you want," he offers hesitantly, hoping it's okay to be cheeky, then grins when his dad gives him the most long-suffering look ever. And kisses him.

Stiles doesn't even really know how to kiss. It doesn’t matter. His daddy's kisses always felt so good on his neck and head and chest back when he still got them, and his mouth is so warm and soft it’s making him melt right into it.

The whisper slips out of him before he can think. "Daddy, can I touch you?"

He was always afraid to ask before, he was too worried about being denied. But he can feel that daddy is hard under him now, just from a little kissing and Stiles squirming around in his lap, and it makes Stiles feel bolder than ever. That and he just _kissed_ him. Even if it was just a light little kiss, it was the first time _anyone_ ever kissed him on the lips and Stiles couldn't hold back now if he wanted to.

Stiles paws at the front of his dad's uniform shirt, not daring to go any lower until he has an answer."I just wanna see, is that okay?" He never could work up the nerve to pull his dad's boxers down with his pants when he brought him to bed. He always felt like he needed to ask for permission first.

His dad’s face is all screwed up as if he's in pain, but he isn't saying no, he isn't denying he's having a physical reaction to this. His hands tighten on Stiles' hips, and when he flicks his eyes open and gives a tiny jerk of a nod, Stiles whimpers and hugs him even closer.

Stiles has never gotten this far, the closest he's been is rubbing against the shape of his daddy's cock when they're both under the covers. And even _then_ he was never sure how much his dad was aware of. He's so shaky when he undoes the belt buckle he has to take a few seconds and just breathe.

When he bravely pets a hand against the front of his dad's uniform pants, it actually makes his dad jolt a little in his seat and _that_ is something Stiles likes a _lot_. He's has all these fantasies about getting on his knees and making daddy groan in that hoarse voice he always has in the middle of the night, but he's never gotten to hear it for real.

He still needs to make sure his daddy isn't trembling with revulsion or guilt or anything like that, so he nuzzles his cheek a little and asks, "Does that feel okay?" even though he's all balled up with tension waiting for the answer.

His dad cups a hand around the back of his neck the way he sometimes does. “You always feel good.” It sounds like every word is being tortured out of him and Stiles doesn't know whether he should keep going or not.

"I don't know what to do," he admits, even though his body is begging him to keep up the smooth, subtle rolls of his hips he's been doing in his daddy's lap. "Can we maybe--maybe the bed? I mean, I made it and everything, it's clean, but we don't have to--”

There’s the quick soft press of his dad’s lips against his own again. “Yeah. We can do that.”

* * *

It feels like coming home, in a weird way. Stiles is so used to their cuddle time taking place in bed, everything is more familiar that way. And this time, he can take his daddy upstairs and help him get his uniform off just like before...only this time, his daddy is 100% sober. That's kind of scary and kind of incredible at the same time.

And for once, he might be allowed to take _all_ of the clothes off. He loves his daddy's body, he wants a chance to really appreciate it. 

By the time he's gotten his dad down to his boxers, everything feels so surreal he doesn't have any room in his mind left for doubts. He's so preoccupied reminding himself this is _happening_ , his daddy still wants him and everything's going to be okay and that's the only thing that matters right now. All Stiles has to do is slip his skinny arms around him and murmur, "Daddy, it's okay now," and his dad crumbles.

Stiles isn't even focused on getting off again, he just wants his daddy to let him be close to him again. Even though Stiles has told him multiple times that he isn't a creep, that _Stiles_ is the one who started pulling the strings to get him into bed to begin with so really _he's_ kind of a creep, he gets that his daddy still needs some positive reinforcement here. It makes sense for his dad to have all those hangups about...being his dad.

He could get in his daddy's lap again and just rock against him. Tell him all about how much he's wanted this, how much he loves feeling so close. How sometimes he can't help touching himself when he's alone because spending so much time with daddy's arms around him at night is making his body crazy. How he trained himself to take two fingers because daddy's are bigger, and he wanted to be able to close his eyes and pretend. 

He doesn’t do any of this. "I thought about this. Like, a lot," he admits shyly. His dad thought he was forcing Stiles into it, so Stiles wants to be very clear that this was his idea from the start. “You never did anything I didn't want. You never did anything that wasn't my idea. And now I just want to make stuff feel good for you too, all right? And I don’t want you to think you’re a bad person for it.” 

But his dad looks so fucking agonized Stiles almost regrets saying anything at all. He tries to ignore the sickening lump of dread building in his gut and whispers, "Do you believe me?" 

He almost misses it when his daddy gives a tiny nod. And Stiles just tips his head in and goes for it, pressing his lips to the scratchy skin of his dad's cheek and hoping for the best. 

All the times they did this, his daddy would sometimes kiss him on the head or the neck or, that one really memorable time, his chest. But Stiles has never been the one giving kisses before, and he's still reeling from the memory of his daddy's mouth on his when they were downstairs. When he finally presses his lips to daddy's, he's feeling like he's going to shake apart. 

He lets out a little whimper before he can catch it, and his daddy responds by clasping the back of Stiles' neck and giving a squeeze. 

"I do, kiddo,” he whispers, “I believe you.” 

Stiles looks him dead in the eye. "Can you kiss me again? Please?" 

He’s shaking when his daddy does it. It's so warm and slow and soft, like he's being hugged in a strange new way. He knows he's clumsy, he doesn't know how to respond, but his daddy just strokes his nape and presses his lips all over Stiles' face when he gets too overwhelmed to do much more than whine. 

His daddy is doing this _while he's sober_ and Stiles is about to pass out. He still hasn't gotten to touch his daddy, but he can tell how hard he is and can't resist wriggling in his lap. And he _can_ feel the way that makes his daddy gasp against his cheek a little bit. 

Stiles sighs when his daddy cups his jaw and tips his head up. But he gets a gentle kiss on the lips and an even more gentle, "It's okay to slow down, kiddo," that he's not so sure he believes. If he doesn't take in as much as he can right now, who's to say his daddy won't write it all off in the morning? 

"Please let me see?" he asks before he can stop himself. 

He's fascinated by his dad's body, how he seems so strong all over. The last thing he expects is for his dad’s fingers to find the hem of his pajama top. “Let’s even things up a little, all right?” 

Stiles doesn’t know what to think at first, but he nods. It never occurred to him that his daddy might want to see him too. He’s pale and skinny and dotted with moles, but he can admit to himself he has decent skin for a teenager, so maybe he’s got that going for him? 

He's leaking into his pajama bottoms by the time his daddy works the top off. It’s enough to make his head swim, and he’s acutely aware that his nipples are still a little swollen because of course he was playing with them earlier. He's still straddling his daddy's thighs, ready to let himself sink back on top of him and get a good, satisfying skin-on-skin hug when his dad looks at him, furrows his brow, and haltingly asks, "You're...you're sure?" 

And that's when Stiles realizes he's got a thumb hooked partially into the waistband of his boxers. 

He thinks he passes out for a second, but not before he nods like a fiend. 

He has to keep his hands balled up into fists because he's positive he'll never be able to stop himself from touching. He'd get his greedy little hands on it right away if he could, he'd memorize the shape, he'd probably try to get his mouth on it if he had enough time. All the guys in porn seem to love that and he has a serious oral fixation on top of wanting to make his daddy feel good. 

And his daddy is hard for him. He knew that, but seeing the evidence is different. 

His poor dad is already bright red and probably eaten up with guilt for letting it get this far, for being hard to _begin_ with. 

Stiles hugs him as tightly as he can. It's not about feeling his daddy's bare cock against him, though he's _very_ aware that that's a thing that's happening, he just needs his daddy to know how much this means to him. For once in his life, he can't seem to form words anymore. 

The two of them are pressed chest to chest and he thinks he could probably get himself over the edge this way, just from being held and grinding his hips down just so. But he doesn't know the first thing about how to make someone _else_ get there and he's blushing all over again when he eases back to meet his daddy's eyes. "I want you to feel good, too." 

He’s never seen his daddy come before. This is the worst oversight ever. 

His daddy pulls in a harsh, shaky breath and looks almost _scared_ but also like he's ready to say something or maybe tip Stiles' head up for another kiss, and that's when the doorbell rings. 

Stiles almost falls off the damn bed. 

“Pizza’s here,” his dad says weakly. 

This may be the one time in his life when Stiles doesn't want pizza. “Will they go away if we just ignore it?” 

That actually makes his dad crack a smile. “When you don't answer the door, they sometimes call you.” 

Stiles spends the next ninety seconds groaning and flying downstairs, throwing a twenty at the guy, dumping the box on the first flat surface, then taking the stairs two at a time to get back in his daddy's bed. He threw his pajama top back on to answer the door and look slightly less like an underage hooker, but the pizza guy probably thinks he interrupted a marathon jerkoff session. 

When he gets back to the bedroom, his daddy is still sitting on the bed, but he's pulled his boxers up again and he looks a little stunned. “Um,” says Stiles, “the pizza's here, if you want to eat?" Maybe his daddy needs some time to process things. 

“It's just as good leftover, anyway,” his dad answers, and motions him back over. 

He's barely finished speaking before Stiles practically launches himself back into his lap. He doesn't even care about getting off by now, he could spend the night quite happily being hugged just like this, knowing his daddy isn't going to push him away. 

It's only dinnertime, too early for bed, but Stiles wriggles a little closer anyway. "Can we maybe just lie down? Like this? Nothing has to--" He cuts himself off since he's not sure if it's okay to mention that he really, really wants to help his daddy come but he doesn't want to push his luck too much in one night. 

When his daddy gives him a pat between his shoulder blades and says, "Whatever you want, kid," Stiles' throat tightens a little. 

He curls into him a little more once his daddy maneuvers them onto their sides and helps him slide out of his shirt again. Since he's already got his face tucked into the curve of his daddy's neck, it's so easy to let his tongue flicker out and glide against the skin there. Just for a second, because he feels like he's _allowed_ now and he was never sure about that before. He's already so turned on he’s leaking, and when his daddy strokes a hand down his back and lets it trace over the curve of his ass, Stiles gives a tiny groan and soaks through his pajama bottoms. 

They've never really _talked_ before when this happens, but this time Stiles is essentially whimpering into his daddy's shoulder and frotting against his thigh and he lets himself whine, "Daddy, I'm gonna--please?" He's been so close for what feels like hours even though the stupid pizza guy came very close to being a complete boner-killer. 

His daddy can't seem to keep his hand away from Stiles' ass, either, maybe because Stiles shudders every time he glides his fingers over it. He has those big strong hands Stiles loves so much, and Stiles is still slick inside from when he worked two fingers in knuckle-deep and pretended it was his daddy carefully stretching him open instead. 

He's breathing so hard it must sound like he's on the verge of a panic attack because his daddy holds him a little tighter. "Stiles, hey, it's all right," he murmurs, the same way he has a thousand times before. "Anything you need, buddy, it's all right." 

Stiles can’t do anything in return but tremble. His daddy's hand on his ass feels so good, he can barely handle the sensations. When he finally comes, all he can do is shudder and cling while the world mutes out around him. 

Then his daddy starts to pull away, which terrifies him all over again. “What are you doing?” 

There’s the familiar press of lips against his forehead. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m just gonna get something to help clean you up.” 

Even though Stiles doesn’t like being alone in bed, he grudgingly decides this is okay. 

He actually stops breathing when his daddy comes back with a washcloth and hesitantly puts a hand on the drawstring of Stiles' pajama pants. _This_ is new too; his daddy's never cleaned him off before, never even seen him in less than his underwear. 

Stiles is almost embarrassed, which isn't something he's felt around his daddy in a while. But no one has _ever_ seen him naked. And he makes...a pretty big mess, especially when he's turned on for as long as he has been tonight. Whenever this happened before, he would either sneak off and change his underwear or sleep in his own come and dart into the shower first thing in the morning. 

But, his body is very quick to remind him, even if he's embarrassed, he's still a teenager, and he'll probably get it up again just from his daddy coaxing his pants off and _looking_ at him, let alone wiping him down. That’s an interesting thought, even if it’s also a little scary. “‘s okay,” he whispers, and lifts his hips to help make things easier. 

He feels kind of exposed when his daddy strips off his sleep pants, but not really in a bad way, because daddy is looking at him like he's beautiful. 

It makes him whine a little when his daddy kisses his cheek and asks if he's okay; he’s not sure how to answer that. Compared to his daddy, he feels like such a skinny little kid, but normally he's too out of his head to dwell on that. And now his daddy is stroking his head and looking at him with such concern in his eyes Stiles can't do anything but nod for him and give a little shiver of pleasure when his daddy starts gently rubbing the washcloth along his middle. 

It turns out that’s more than enough to lull Stiles back into blissfulness. All he has to do is lie there, basking in the feeling of his daddy cleaning him off, running the cloth down his belly until he giggles and squirms. By the time he’s worked his way down to the soft, sensitive inside of his thighs, Stiles sighs and lets them fall open. He can’t help it, his hole is still so slick and needy from when he played with himself in bed, then in the shower even though he knew his daddy was downstairs. 

His daddy gives a hiss of sympathy. “Kiddo, what did you do to yourself?” 

And slowly, keeping his eyes on Stiles' face the whole time, he pushes Stiles' knees up to get a better look. 

Stiles knows he’s crimson by now, same as he knows his hole is sore and pink from before. He wants his daddy inside him so badly, sometimes he gets carried away. It's just not _enough_ anymore. 

His daddy is rubbing slow, soothing circles into his belly with one hand. “Can you spread your legs just a little more, Stiles? ” 

Stiles whimpers and thrusts his hips against nothing when he obeys. Maybe his daddy's going to at least give him a finger, he's still slick enough from riding his own to take it. 

"I don't want you doing anything to yourself that leaves you too sore," his daddy tells him, so concerned and serious, like he's inspecting a skinned elbow. “Don’t be too rough on yourself.” 

Stiles practically chokes on his own words. “I-I’ll try, daddy.” 

He touches himself without thinking, smearing precome all over his hand when his daddy gently rubs the pad of his thumb against his sensitive little hole, Stiles' body parts for him instinctively, tries to urge him inside, but his daddy only murmurs, "Good. There's my good boy.” He sets the washcloth aside, then bends in to give Stiles a kiss on his smooth, damp stomach. 

Stiles is still floating in post-orgasmic euphoria, but he's watching his daddy's face very carefully in case he starts to have second thoughts. "Thank you, daddy," he mumbles, giving a long, slow stretch that the makes his back arch off the bed. His cock is flushed and rigid all over again, but Stiles doesn't mind this time. He likes his daddy looking at him, it’s like Stiles is on display for him. 

"I know you need it too,” he blurts out. “I don't have to do anything--you can pretend I'm not here if you want to, or I can go, I just want you to..." His daddy's been so good to him, he just wants to be good in return. And even though he really wants to watch daddy come, or better yet, _make_ daddy come, he can adapt. 

“Stiles,” his daddy says, so serious, “I don’t…” 

“Yeah, you do,” Stiles interrupts. He knows damn well how uncomfortable it is when you're hard for so long and you don't do anything about it, he doesn't want his daddy to have to lie there like that. He only got a quick look at daddy's cock, but he saw it was big. It would feel so nice if he could get his hands on it. 

He knows how stubborn his dad can be, he's learned that from all his years of trying to talk his way out of trouble. But he also knows that he always feels so happy after he comes, and daddy seems like he needs that right now. 

Stiles tugs at his arm until his daddy is stretching out beside him again, then nestles his way against him like he can physically keep him in place that way. "I like when you touch me," he says quietly. "I just wanna make you feel better." 

He’s on tenterhooks waiting for a reply. Maybe his dad’s body has finally gotten the message that being hard while pressed against his naked teenaged son _isn't_ something that should be happening. 

Then his daddy sighs and wraps his arm around him a little tighter. "You already make me better," he says quietly. “I don’t want to think about what kind of person I'd be without you.” 

There are a thousand things Stiles wants to say in response to that. Then he gives a gentle roll of his hips and nearly bites through his lip. 

He just can't help himself. He's finally in bed with his daddy, he's _naked_ and pressed up against him, his body is uncontrollable. "Does that feel okay?" he asks breathlessly. He really doesn't know, he doesn't know what to do here. His years of porn watching haven't made him feel any less fumbling and awkward now that it's the real thing. 

And when his daddy whispers this tight-voiced little _yeah_ in his ear, Stiles gives a tiny whimper and hugs him even closer. 

He’s still afraid to push it as far as actually touching his daddy, no matter how much he wants to. But his daddy lets out these harsh, rasping breaths every time Stiles squirms against him and that's almost too much for Stiles' brain to process anyway. "I've got you, daddy, I promise." 

He knows how important that is to him, feeling safe, so he tries to give it back as best he can. "I was thinking about you...before," he admits, all in a rush, since he really doesn't know how his daddy is going to take this. "A-and we don't have to do anything you don't want, okay, just please let me take care you too, daddy. Okay?" 

His daddy doesn’t say a word, just gives him a little nod. And when Stiles works a hand into his boxers, his daddy lets him. 

Stiles doesn't know who's shaking more by now. His daddy's arm is clamped so tightly around him, like he's trying to anchor himself, and Stiles doesn't know what to do other than keep whispering _it's okay, I've got you, it's okay_ even though he knows that's probably not all that reassuring. Especially considering the first thing he does when he slips a hand around his daddy’s cock is bury his face in his throat and whimper. 

He's never touched anyone besides himself and his daddy is so hard, because of _him_ , he just doesn't want to screw it up. The room is spinning around him, he’s so overwhelmed. "It...daddy, it feels so _good_. Do you feel good too?" 

When his daddy gasps out, "Yeah, kiddo, it feels good," Stiles is sure he’s dreamed this whole thing up. There’s just no way it’s actually happening. 

He’s barely doing anything, just rubbing, really. "Is it okay? Like this?" 

"You're doing just fine," his dad murmurs against his head, and then Stiles glides his thumb across the tip of him, feels the wetness there, and his breath spikes in with a sharp hiss. 

He wasn't completely soft even after he came and he's hard again already, nipples tight and peaked where they skim against his daddy’s chest. This new revelation has him grinding shamelessly against his daddy’s thigh and gasping. “You too? I mean...I thought when I...I didn't know if it's normal to get that… _wet_ " he stammers out. 

Which isn't _entirely_ true. Some of the guys in porn get pretty wet, but Stiles is extra self conscious about his own body since it seems so unnecessarily messy. Guys in porn seem to find it appealing, but for him, it's always just meant an overuse of tissues. Having a hand down his daddy's underwear is so reassuring. He's learning so much. 

He pulls his hand back and tugs at his daddy's waistband, since he figures it'll be easier to touch without all that fabric in the way, and his daddy actually lets him. 

Stiles has never, ever had so much bare skin to press up against and he's already so hard again, he gets so caught in the moment he forgets he's supposed to be making his daddy come instead of himself. Daddy is just so warm and solid against him and there's nothing in the way this time, he can feel _everything_. His daddy is gently rubbing his back the way he used to when Stiles still had nightmares, like it doesn't even bother him that Stiles isn't even touching him anymore, just wriggling in to get as much of his daddy against him as possible. 

After all these elaborate fantasies about daddy holding him down and daddy coming inside him, Stiles is amazed at how good it feels just to be pressed against him like this. He can't imagine surviving anything more. 

Then he realizes he's just been rutting against his daddy's thigh, smearing precome all over him and trying to bring _himself_ off again when he's supposed to be focusing on his daddy. He tries to say he's sorry, he just couldn't help himself. 

And when he tries to get his shaky hand back on him, this time his daddy just wraps it up in his own and shows him how. “Like this, buddy, you’re doing just fine.” 

Stiles is whimpering a steady litany of _oh my god_ by now. This is the most active role his daddy has taken all night. He took Stiles' hand and _showed him how_. Granted, he’s also given him an orgasm and gotten him naked, so they were pretty far past the point of no return already. 

It’s good having his daddy guiding him. Stiles really doesn't know what he’s doing, he doesn't know what feels good for another person. Lately when he touches himself, he spends half the time pinching his nipples with one hand while he fingers himself with the other. Most times, the contact of his cock rubbing against his arm is enough to make him go off. Sometimes he doesn't even need that, especially now that he's figured out where his prostate is. But he knows he's a teenager and teenagers can get off against walls if they want to, not that he’s tried. He has no idea how to make a real adult feel good

When his daddy wraps Stiles' fingers around him and guides their joined hands up and down, Stiles loses it. He whines, "I’m gonna--oh-- _daddy_ " against his daddy’s jaw and the next thing he knows his daddy is groaning and his hand is slick with come. 

It takes him a moment to put the pieces together. Once the realization hits, it’s more than enough to push him over the edge a second time. 

Now he's a sticky mess all over again, even though his daddy was nice enough to clean him off before, and he couldn’t possibly care less. 

Stiles heaves a huge breath and lets himself flop onto his back. " _Fuck_." 

His daddy eyes him. "Language." 

Stiles is too taken aback to laugh. "Seriously?" This, he supposes, is the problem with your daddy being your dad too. Just because there was some mutual fondling doesn't mean he's letting Stiles walk all over him, and Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“It's just reflex,” his dad tells him, and kisses his cheek. “Love you, kiddo.” 

For the millionth time, Stiles melts. “Love you, too.” 

It’s so weird, to finally have absolutely no angst about whether or not his daddy wants him. Good weird, but still weird. And there's even pizza downstairs. This is the best night of his life, basically. 

He glances at his dad. "So I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you didn't get any veggies on the pizza, huh?" He's on top of the world right now, he can go back to playing amateur nutritionist tomorrow. 

And his daddy lets his head fall back against the pillow and _laughs_. Like everything’s okay. Like _they’re_ okay. 

Apparently deviance runs in the family. Stiles is going to run with that for all he’s worth. 


End file.
